


You've got time

by ohsostarryskyed



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, domestic as balls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:17:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohsostarryskyed/pseuds/ohsostarryskyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just a split second - the bus hits a pothole, and she pulls away - but Kate can still see her reflection in the girl's eyes, bewildered.</p>
<p>- </p>
<p>When America visits Kate in LA, she's afraid of staying still, but Sunday mornings can change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've got time

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy drabble written for my girlfriend's birthday (you're welcome!). Fluff without much plot. Based in the Hawkguy verse, but could also be a nice California AU.

America's door is shut, but Kate doesn't bother knocking. One turn of a handle and a bump of her hip and the door swings inward, revealing a small and sparsely decorated - per Kate's insistance - room. Technically, it could have been bigger, but America had been adamant about where she wanted to stay, and Kate had yet to win over the pushy girl; if Kate Bishop couldn't make someone back down, it is supposed that no one can, and so when she kicks the door closed behind her, America just smirks.

"And where is my applause?" Kate asks, posing in the two square foot of space between the door and her friend's bed, arm stretched out, coffee in hand. "That was a smooth move," she insists, placing it on the bed before knocking her sunglasses up onto the top of her head. After she'd left New York, Kate had gotten used to being alone, but her unexpected guest is not unappreciated, even if she is hopeless at buying things - and if Kate is honest with herself, she isn't the greatest, either - and the two of them can barely claim pocket change. America takes the barely warm cup, clapping once as she rolls her eyes at Kate's grimace; whatever is in there, it's bound to illicit a pained expression.

"Is that any way to treat the girl who brought you back something to drink?" Kate complains, sitting herself on the edge and frowning as America groans, as if she's unable to think about the words filling the space between them; she takes a second, cracking her knuckles absentmindedly, before tossing herself up and over the bed, deciding she has no time for lukewarm lattes.

The floor creaks as she walks. "You want to get out of here?" She asks, forcing her fists into her pockets; these days, life is stagnant. Boring. America had never learned to deal with boring, and so her eyes drift to Kate, expectant. she hates standing still.

\- -

Kate is tracing a ringlet of hair with her eyes when the bus lurches; it's close enough to touch, but she doesn't, instead moving to push the sunglasses - that had stayed perfectly in place, naturally - back over her eyes and settle more comfortably in her seat. Next to her, America is stiff. Knuckles pressed against her cheek, leg thrown over the other, foot jiggling rhythmically against Kate's knee, shoes leaving marks against the light purple fabric. Whether it's intentional or not, Kate frowns, choosing to go back to thinking about anything other than the annoying way her friend deals with passing time.

She has a feeling, a strange, sort of fantastic haze of possibilities, that washes over her whenever she's with strangers, elbows packed together, existing in colorful murkiness and surprisingly comfortable temperatures. Her mind wanders to her teammates - Billy and Teddy wrapped around each other, laughing uncontrollably. Tommy singing loudly to the radio, Eli and David trying to complain over the off-key and slightly wrong lyrics. America.

America punching things, heavily lidded eyes flashing, voice echoing around her as she lets out a triumphant cry.

"You alive, princess?" 

Kate starts. Beside her, America grabs the metal bar with one hand and swings towards her, light bouncing off her hair. Her cheek is slightly imprinted where her knuckles had previously been, drawing warmth across her smooth skin, which Kate notices with a small smile - the girl looks frazzled and wild, untamed, but she's staring right into Kate's eyes, bemused and waiting for a response that may or may not come.

"Don't call me princess," Kate huffs in response, eyes darting to the left, where a man is perched beside the two of them, engrossed in his laptop, fingers typing at near lightning speed; across the aisle, a baby cries into its mother's shoulder. They're almost alone, she thinks, as she cranes her neck to look around the mass of hair in front of her. Sunshine is pouring through the windows, illuminating America as she swings even further forward, leaning into her.

It's just a split second - the bus hits a pothole, and she pulls away - but Kate can still see her reflection in the girl's eyes, bewildered. America laughs, pulling at a strap that stubbornly refused to stay on her shoulders; behind her, the ocean comes into view, glittering against the dirty roads and tired patrons. California is kind to the restless, though Kate is sure it's working against her, especially when America takes her by the wrist and pulls her to her feet.

"Okay, your majesty."

\- - 

America is the first to wake, of course.

They'd gotten back late - sand-scrubbed skin, untied shoes, all laughter and scraped knees, and only one of her shoes still remains on her feet, but she's wide awake against the warmth that seeps in through thin curtains. They are steeped in honey tones, offsetting the purple covers that have been kicked off the bed; beside her, Kate is tangled in a white sheet. It's quiet, but she doesn't mind it - yet, - and reaches an arm out to brush her fingers along the length of Kate's arm; her skin is smooth, unmarked. Somehow, the heat doesn't faze her, and she rolls onto her side, sighing something unintelligible.

It's stupid how calm everything can get in the morning. 

Batting away an old quilt, America sits up, gazing down at the patchworked stitches and frayed edges - which she'd made sure to tease Kate about the first night she'd got there - and smoothing it against the bed. She plans to get up and move around; what's the point of staying in bed, after all?, but as Kate sighs again, she almost feels the need to run, and she frowns as she finds herself standing in the kitchen, bottle of water in hand.

The rest of the house is sunny as well, and outside, neighhbors laugh. The oven clock chimes as it reaches noon. The hum of the refirgerator is calm.Reaching down to scratch Lucky behind the ears, America smiles. Maybe this isn't so bad, after all.

When Kate wakes up, she finds America's shoe underneath her pillow, and an arm around her waist. So much for being unable to win her over.


End file.
